


And One For Yourself? (Let Me Take You Home?)

by meh_guh



Series: Warning: Contains Feels [3]
Category: Marvel, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Calm Down Erik, Charles You Slut, F/M, Fluff, Get Together, M/M, Prequel, RomCom AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 21:13:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meh_guh/pseuds/meh_guh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles has <i>had it</i> with academia. He's sick of Boston, sick of teaching Bio 101, sick of Nathaniel Essex's guerrilla campaign against his lab time. So of course, the only thing to do is to move back to NYC and open a bar. It'll be a lark.</p><p>And Tony's there! Scads of guilt-free, friendly sex is never to be frowned upon.</p><p>Of course, the bewitching lunatic behind the bar complicates matters, but Charles is hardly new at seduction. He'll win Erik over in a matter of weeks.</p><p>A month at the outside.</p><p>Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rim the Glass With Salt

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't know how many chapters this will run to (I hope not 20, it shouldn't be that much of a monster)
> 
> Please let me know if you have any requests, corrections, suggestions, etc. Comments here, at meh_guh.livejournal.com, or at meh-guh.tumblr.com; whichever suits you best ^_^
> 
> As the rating suggests, this'll be quite a bit filthier than WNWYA?, and it mostly happened because the 'Charles You Slut' and 'Calm Down Erik' tags made me faceplant on my keyboard with helpless laughter.

When Charles arrived back at the flat, Raven was sprawled on the sofa, eating pop tarts and watching some appalling thing with screaming orange women. He briefly considered pulling his Englishness up and just stiff-upper-lipping it through, but to hell with it.

He hurled his attache case into the wall, kicked the umbrella stand, and threw himself into the La-Z-Boy.

'I take it the situation hasn't improved,' Raven muted the screeching, holding out her plate. 'Do you want me to deface his car?'

Charles took a pop tart and glared at it. 'Nathaniel Essex,' he gritted out. 'Is an unbelievable _wanker_.'

Raven raised an eyebrow. 'That's one way of describing him. I'd probably go with stronger language myself, but I'm thoroughly Americanised.'

Charles bit the pop tart, chewing the too-sweet pastry vengefully. Dr Essex had never liked him, which would have been fine; one didn't need to be liked by one's colleagues or even one's boss to do one's job. Except the horrid man kept playing petty office games; rearranging Charles's lab bookings without telling him, refusing to submit Charles's papers within deadlines, scheduling Charles to teach the bloody undergraduate introductory biology course, _every_ bloody year!

'I bet I can get Alex to come up and steal his car,' Raven offered, rolling onto her stomach. 'Or we could fill his office with frogs, like that time-'

'I appreciate the thought,' Charles gave her a tired smile. 'But I don't want Alex to get into trouble again, and the frogs always come off the worst.'

Raven frowned at him. 'Isn't there someone you can talk to? The Dean or some union or other?'  
'Not any more,' Charles sighed, dropping the rest of the pop tart on the coffee table. 'I quit.'

'As in “turned in your resignation, flipping Essex off with both hands as you moonwalked out”?' Raven's mouth dropped open. 'Damn, I wanted to see that.'

Charles laughed, kicking his feet over the arm of his chair and leaning back to stare at the ceiling. 'Pretty much exactly that.'

'Was it worth it?'

'Oooh, yeah,' Charles grinned. 'I'm pretty sure a few students filmed it; remind me to check youtube later.'

Raven hummed, and Charles listened to her get up and pad into the kitchen. A few minutes later, the kettle boiled and she came back with mugs of tea.

'Cheers,' Charles levered himself upright and cupped his hands around the china. 'I feel like such a stereotype, but tea really does solve everything.'

Raven snorted, sipping at her own mug. 'So what'll you do now? Let one of the other Ivy Leagues snap you up and parade you around fundraisers?'

'No-o,' Charles frowned. 'I think I'd like a break from academia. I mean, I can afford to hire lab space when I need it. Build my own, even, if we went back to Westchester.'

Raven pulled a face at the suggestion, but didn't complain.

'And I can certainly afford to keep up my subscriptions to the journals. I think I can probably still do peer reviews, maybe a few submissions...' he trailed off. He hadn't actually thought past the grand gesture of public resignation, which was a little embarrassing for a certified genius to admit. 'Er... What _does_ one do to fill one's days?'

'You could take up pottery,' Raven suggested, deadpan. 'Indulge your stereotypical Englishness and make yourself a selection of tea pots and cups for every occasion. Maybe paint the Queen on them. Corgis... sheep... write the shipping forecast's initials on a few...'

Charles pulled off a sock and threw it at her, laughing. 'The shipping forecast is not to be blasphemed against, woman! You may mock the Queen, her corgis, even our love of tea, but nary a word will I hear against Auntie and the Forecast!'

Raven shot him a fond look and threw the sock back.

'Well,' she shrugged. 'It's not like you need to work. If you get bored enough, you'll think of something.'

****

After two weeks of eating ice cream and catching himself up on his journal subscriptions, Charles was about ready to climb the walls. He really wasn't cut out for the life of leisure-and-boredom his mother had led.

The video had indeed been uploaded to youtube, and he was gratified (and a little embarrassed) to see that it had several thousand hits already. He watched it a few times, particularly pleased with how successful his moonwalking swivel had been. The comments section was, as always a mistake to peruse, but really. If one cared what 'fucknozzle257' or 'jzboyzrgai' thought of one, one probably had extreme self-esteem issues to work through.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, he clicked open a new browser tab and typed “what things do bored rich people do to fill the endless hours?” into the search bar.

'Hmm,' he stared for a moment, then tried the same thing with “safe search” on.

The first few pages were filled with sarcastic articles about over-privileged celebutantes, and the rest seemed to be suggestions for how to get rich in order to enjoy boredom. Sighing, Charles closed the laptop and decided to go for a walk.

****

'So,' he said over some rather excellent moo gu gai pan that night. 'I think I'm going to move back down to New York for a while.'

'You are _not_ going back there alone.' Raven arched an eyebrow, stabbing at him with her chopsticks for emphasis. 'God only knows what state you'll get yourself in rattling around that museum-'

Charles grinned. 'I meant the city, not the mansion, but I rather hoped you'd say that.'

Raven perked up at that. 'You're moving back to the Village? Awesome. In that case, I'm definitely coming with.'

****

The first thing Charles did, after calling the cleaning service to make sure the Greenwich flat was scrubbed in anticipation of their arrival, was to call Tony.

'Let me guess,' Tony said, as distracted-sounding as ever. 'You're all dolled up with nowhere to go?'

'Absolutely,' Charles drawled. 'I am _working_ this cardigan. Unfortunately, I'm working it alone.'

Tony's laugh was a welcome and familiar sound, and Charles had to grin when he heard Tony shut off whatever machinery he'd been using. 'You in town?'

'Not yet,' Charles let his hand drift down his chest, idly caressing himself. 'But I shall be in a few weeks. Care to meet up to celebrate my triumphant return?'

Tony hummed, and Charles could picture him leaning back, smiling to himself. 'Sounds like a plan. How long are you planning on being here?'

'Indefinitely,' Charles popped the buttons on his cardigan and shirt open, letting a gasp out as his fingers hit skin. 'I quit the university.'

'Too many freshman, not enough time to science-out?' Tony asked, his voice gone breathless too. Charles called up a memory of the last time he and Tony had met up, the wicked grin Tony had shot him as he sank to his knees in the middle of a nightclub.

'Something like that,' Charles murmured, pulling his cock out and switching the phone to speaker to free up his other hand. There was a tube of hand cream Raven had dropped next to the sofa, so he grabbed it and flipped the lid open. He could hear the soft grunt Tony always made when he touched himself for the first time, then his name being hissed.

'I need to find a hobby, Raven tells me,' Charles continued, scraping a nail across a nipple as he spread the pre-come over his cock, leisurely strokes speeding up as he listened to Tony's breathless moan. 'Something...mmm... something to keep me...uh!....to keep me occupied.'

'Oh yeah,' Tony growled. 'I can do that. Spread you open, work my way in and drive you wild...'

Charles groaned, knees splaying wide and thrusting into his hand. 'Almost there...'

'Make you forget your name,' Tony grunted, falling silent for a moment, then breathlessly saying 'Gonna rim you for hours, Charles. You'll be so sweet-'

Charles squeezed one last time and came across his belly with a whimper. A moment later, Tony let out a pleased sigh.

'Good for you too?' Tony laughed a handful of breaths later, the clear affection in his tone which always warmed Charles right up.

'Very,' he sighed approvingly. 'Thank you, Tony.'

'Any time,' there was a brief pause where they just breathed at each other. 'Call when you're settled in? Or any time, if you want to do this again.'

'Of course,' Charles picked the phone up again. 'Goodbye, Tony.'

Tony murmured a farewell, and ended the call.

Charles leaned back in his chair again, taking his time catching his breath again until he heard Raven's key in the lock.

'Shit!' he scrambled to his feet, hoisting his trousers up and clutching at his cardigan. 'Bollocks. Fuck.'

He froze for a second, then bolted for the bathroom, as Raven called 'Hey Charles, I... oh, dammit! Really? _In the living room?!_ '

Charles slammed the bathroom door and collapsed into helpless giggles.

****

Being unseemly rich had a lot of perqs, including the ability just to pay someone to do all the tiresome moving things for one.

Charles tooted the horn at the removalists, giving them a merry wave, and drove away humming.

'You're so obnoxious,' Raven complained from the passenger side, slapping a hand over her headscarf to stop it flying away. 'I expect to find at least three things deliberately broken.'

'Oh, tish-psaw,' Charles scoffed, changing lanes without indicating and grinning at the outraged honking. 'And even if so, there's nothing I can't replace.'

Raven just adjusted her sunglasses and scootched down in the seat.

****

'You need to find a better stylist,' Tony complained when he slid onto the stool next to Charles at the bar, brushing a greeting kiss across Charles's lips. 'Honestly, Charles, you dress like... well, not _my_ grandfather. Old Nick never spent less than five hundred on his pants. Is it _your_ grandfather you're channelling? Or just the Spirit of Grandfathers?'

Charles plucked at his vest, squinting at the Argyle pattern. 'I happen to think this is quite smart. And anyway,' he grinned over the rim of his appletini. 'I didn't realise I still had to impress you.'

Tony shrugged, gesturing at the bartender for refills. 'Thought up any hobbies yet?'

'No,' Charles turned to lean back against the bar, surveying the sleek crowd of besuited men and little-black-dressed women. 'I'm not in a hurry, though.'

Tony made a humming sound and passed over a fresh glass. 'Here's to debauched shenanigans.'

'Hear, hear,' Charles clinked his glass against Tony's and shot him a warm look. 'Shall we start on them now?'

Tony's eyes lit with interest and he pressed closer, slipping a knee between Charles's. 'But Professor,' he gasped, tugging at the hem of Charles's vest. 'Isn't that a little scandalous?'

Charles drained the rest of his drink and deftly opened Tony's trousers, sliding his hand in and past the silk boxers. 'Really, Tony?' he raised an eyebrow and twisted his wrist. 'Silk knickers?'

'Never had any complaints before,' Tony's hands drifted across Charles's chest, thumbs flicking almost-accidentally over his nipples. 'I could be persuaded to let you-'

'You two geniuses do know you're in public on camera?'

Charles blinked and turned to face the bartender. 'What?'

The bartender glared, folding his arms. 'This isn't a bath house. Get out, you're disturbing the other patrons.'

Charles could feel the stupid “make me” rushing towards Tony's mouth, and sure enough…

'I'd like to see you make me,' Tony folded his arms, apparently trying for some sort of petulant dignity. Charles's hand was still in his boxers, though, and he watched the bartender's gaze flick down and back up, unimpressed. The bartender made a gesture at the cranky-looking bouncers by the door.

Charles let his head thump forward against Tony's chest to laugh for the two minutes before the bouncers stomped over to drag them out.

'Oh, tuck yourself away, Tony,' he managed when Tony had finished shouting at the bouncers' backs. 'It's a bit early in the night for that sort of thing.'

Tony fiddled with his fly, muttering in the thwarted-but-not-really-angry way familiar from many nights out together.

Having got himself presentable again, Tony blinked and froze with his Genius Idea Incoming face on.

'You should buy a bar!' he shouted, grabbing Charles by the shoulders.

'I what?' Charles let Tony swing him around a few times.

'You should buy a bar,' Tony repeated, wrapping an arm around Charles's shoulders and pulling him close. 'Then you could be as lewd in public as you wanted, no one would throw me out, and you'd have a hobby! I'm brilliant!'

'I'd still throw you out sometimes,' Charles remarked, starting to walk towards his flat. 'If you exploded anything, for instance. Or any time Pepper asked me to.'

'Hey!' Tony glared at him. 'I don't always blow things up.'

'Not fighting me on the Pepper front, I note,' Charles grinned. 'And you do too. Explosions everywhere. Granted,' he shoved at Tony playfully. 'The explosions are sometimes people's tempers, but I reiterate: explosions all. The. Time.'

Tony visibly dropped his protests, heaving an elaborate sigh. 'You should buy a bar.'

Charles thought about it for a few minutes. It would be a way to pass the time, and even if it was a flaming wreck of a place commercially it would still be well within his means. And it could even be like throwing a party every night. Tony would be there; probably impossible to keep him out, Charles smiled to himself. And Raven, and he could pass the word around his friends…

'You know,' he said as they reached his building. 'I think I shall.’

'Awesome,' Tony grinned, and got the door.

****

Of course, one couldn't simply go and _buy_ a bar. There were all sorts of tiresome things like liquor licensing, finding property which was for sale and preferably already up to whatever codes the city of New York insisted upon for its watering establishments, coming up with a name for the bloody place…

'There's a bar for sale a few streets over,' Raven said from about three inches behind Charles's ear.

'ARGH!' he screamed, flailing his way out of his chair and landing in an undignified heap on the floor. He glared up at her, cursing in vicious French and rubbing the elbow which had borne the brunt of his fall.

'Not my fault you zone out,' Raven sniffed, dropping a carton of risotto into his lap and perching on the edge of Charles's recently-vacated desk. 'Alex's latest. He wants reviews.'

Charles opened the container, anger dissipating in the heavenly smells of Alex's cooking. 'They'll be raving.'

'Always are from you,' Raven grinned. 'Anyway, did you hear what I said?'

'Hmm?' Charles tilted the container, trying to see what exactly was making the risotto smell so fantastic. 'That Alex wants feedback?'

'That there's a bar for sale,' Raven waved a plastic fork under Charles's nose. 'Full license, fully kitted out, even comes with staff.'

Charles made himself put the risotto down to turn his sternest big brother stare on Raven. 'What's the catch?'

Raven smiled sweetly. 'Owner's selling up because he's terrified of the bartender.'

'What?' Charles blinked. 'Why doesn't he just fire him?'

Raven shrugged, shovelling a truly unladylike quantity of food into her mouth. 'Dunno. 'S what he said, anyway. He said he'd be there late tonight if you want to go check it out.'

Charles thought about it. 'Yeah,' he picked his dinner up again. 'Sounds good.'

****

The bar was an off-putting futuristic monstrosity, all chrome and neon glass. Charles was utterly unsurprised that he and Raven were the only non-staff there.

'I just don't feel up to it any more,' the dejected owner said over the jangling techno noise echoing around the room. 'I'm going to move back to Toledo. Is the price OK?'

Charles raised his eyebrows. The place was gigantic, and he would of course have to redecorate, but the bulk of the place could probably stay as it was. Excellent location for his purposes, and without an established client base to irritate with the changes. Glancing at Raven, she seemed to agree.

'The price is fine, Mr Jenkins,' Charles smiled and offered his hand. 'I'll have my lawyer get in touch with yours.'

Mr Jenkins sagged with relief, shooting a nervous glance towards the bar. 'Er, there is just the matter of Lensherr...'

'This would be the terrifying bartender?' Charles let his smile widen. 'Eats small children, does he?'

'You don't have to keep him,' Jenkins said hurriedly. 'I just never saw a bartender know so much about the job with so few skills at customers. Not that it matters at the moment,' he cast a gloomy stare around the empty bar. Raven snorted in Charles's ear.

'Is he terribly difficult?' Charles cocked his head, glancing towards the still-unattended bar.

'No-o,' Mr Jenkins drew the word out, looking uncertain. 'He's... very German. And scary as hell, but he's also very good at the job. Hey, Erik!'

Mr Jenkins got up to walk to the store room, turning the awful music off on the way to Charles's unending relief. 'Erik, you wanna come meet the new owner?'

Charles heard a few thumps, some irritated German he couldn't quite understand, and then 'Fine.'

A man in an abbreviated tank top and filthy jeans stomped out into the empty bar, scrubbing ferociously at the dust and cobwebs decorating him.

'Can we get this over with?' he demanded, glaring at Mr Jenkins. 'I am only a third of the way into my reorganisation of your inefficient system.'

'Oh,' Charles said, staring. 'Well, I'm definitely keeping _that_.'


	2. Juice Three Limes

His lawyers worked their magic with a bare minimum of pursed lips and disapproving glares, which was a first in Charles's dealings with them. He signed with a flourish on the last of the pages, grinned at Jenkins and clapped his hands together.

'Would you like one final drink as a celebration?'

Jenkins stared down at the cheque in his hands. 'Er, no. Thank you, but I'd like to never, _ever_ see Erik's face again except in my nightmares.'

Charles laughed, offering his hand. 'Well, the offer stands, should you find yourself in the city again. It's been a pleasure doing business with you.'

Jenkins muttered something agreeable, and Charles left with his brand new deed, liquor license and plan.

****

The very first item on the agenda was to change the décor. The neon strip lighting, brushed steel monstrosities, the appalling eggplant the walls had been painted: it all had to go.

'So you'll be hiring Jan, will you?' Raven asked, arched over the back of the couch like her spine was rubber. 'Someone with taste to do the redesign.'

Charles bristled. 'I have taste! I have taste in spades!'

Raven cast a glance around the apartment, which Charles copied. Sure, there were a few ugly china dogs and perhaps an elephant-foot umbrella stand wasn't completely up to date, but he thought he'd done quite well.

'Well,' she said after letting the silence stretch to breaking point. 'I suppose you'll attract the hipster crowd. Which I'm told is a pretty lucrative market.'

Charles shrugged. He wasn't really concerned with making the bar a commercial success so long as it was a place he enjoyed. 'It will be a brilliant and well-furnished reservoir of awesomeness. I'm going down right now to let Erik know we'll be redecorating. Maybe he'll want to help?'

Raven snorted. 'You mean you're going down to flutter around him like a particularly distractible Irish Setter.'

Charles pouted at her. 'But Raven, Irish Setters are _quite_ stupid.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'Yes.'

'Oh, _cruel!_ ' he grinned at her, snagged his keys off the table and left for the bar.

****

Erik was scrubbing the bar counter as though he had a personal grudge against it when Charles arrived. He glanced up, face a beautiful blank, then went back to cleaning.

'Good morning, Erik,' Charles trilled, sauntering up to lean against the bar. 'How are you today?'

'Don't tell me,' Erik said without looking up. 'You have a plan to make this bar _hip_.'

Charles blinked. 'Er, no? I was going to say that I'm closing for a month to redecorate, so you needn't turn up tomorrow.'

Erik slammed the cloth down. 'And you think that giving me one day's notice is sufficient? You-'

He snapped some very angry-sounding German, and Charles held his hands up to try and stem the tide. 'On full salary, of course! I'm trying to give you a holiday!'

Erik narrowed his eyes, studying Charles intently. Charles smiled hopefully; maybe this would be even easier than he'd hoped.

'No,' Erik said at last. 'I will assist you in refitting the bar.'

'Oh!' Charles felt himself flush with pleasure. 'Well, if you really want to, I'd love the help.'

'It's not as though closing will have any effect on my work,' Erik replied, almost wry. 'What style of décor did you have in mind?'

Charles brightened, resting his chin on one hand to stare at Erik's face. 'Well! I was thinking boho-chic; remove the DJ booth, get some oak panelling, maybe some plants-'

'You're not changing the bar,' Erik dropped his cloth in the laundry bag beside the sink. 'I have finally got it organised for maximum efficiency.'

'You're so _German_ ,' Charles sighed in tones aiming for lasciviousness, but falling closer to fond. 'Can I at least change the awful neon strip lighting?'

Erik shrugged, one corner of his mouth twitching up, so Charles declared the day an epic success and settled in to stare for a while.

****

There was a knock at the door the next morning, something about it seeming to telegraph distress. Charles flung the door open to reveal a pale and upset-looking Hank.

'Hank!' he reached out to pull the boy inside. 'Shouldn't you be knee-deep in your research? Is everything all right?'

Hank turned limpid eyes towards Charles and just looked more pathetic. 'It's _horrible_ , Charles.'

He sounded so distraught Charles found himself getting quite concerned. Charles herded Hank towards an armchair and considered offering tea, but 'Brandy? Or whiskey, but you never much liked whiskey, did you?'

Hank accepted a generous measure of brandy, but just stared into the glass rather than actually putting it to its intended use. Purely for solidarity's sake, Charles fetched himself a matching slug and perched on the arm of the sofa.

'What is it?' he tried after an extended silence. 'You can tell me anything, you know.'

Hank seemed to fold a little further in on himself. 'They gave me Essex.'

'Damn,' Charles felt abruptly ashamed. He hadn't even considered the impact of his resignation on his grad students. 'Oh, I'm so terribly sorry Hank. I didn't even-'

Hank heaved a sigh. 'He's not too bad as far as the research goes. A little slapdash about things like ethics committees, but he's let me pursue my own line of enquiry. But he gave me all your bio classes, Charles!'

'I really am most dreadfully sorry,' Charles mentally kicked himself. 'If there was anything I could do...'

Hank looked up finally, a glint in his eye that gave Charles a chill. 'I was hoping you'd say that.'

'Er,' Charles busied himself refreshing his drink, adding a little soda this time in the hopes of keeping a clear head. 'What precisely have I volunteered for?'

Hank looked shifty, as much as was possible with such a naturally open face. 'Raven tells me you've got quite a bit of spare time; something which as a doctoral candidate in the final months of his research I do not have in abundance.'

Charles ventured a smile. 'And jolly interesting research it is too-'

'Frankly,' Hank bulldozed on. 'I don't have enough time to mark the coursework. I've got a stack of term papers and weekly quizzes as high as your hip, and a horde of Freshmen baying after their marks, but no TA to help.'

He really _had_ dropped Hank in it, Charles reflected. 'All right,' he heaved his own sigh. 'I'll mark the coursework for you. And I really _am_ terribly sor-'

'Hank!' Raven shrieked, hurling herself from her doorway towards the armchair and wrapping herself around him. 'What're you doing for your birthday? I forgot to ask last week, but you should totally come down here, we'll throw you the best party in Charles's bar, won't we?'

'Of course,' Charles mentally tallied his renovation plans with Hank's birth date. 'We should be finished refitting; it'll be like a launch party only better!'

'Oh,' Hank blinked, blowing Raven's hair out of his mouth and turning red. 'Er, if you want to, I suppose...?'

'That's settled, then,' Raven resettled herself in Hank's lap, hooking her ankles over the arm of the chair. 'Alex can do the catering, Terrifying Erik can pour the drinks, and I shall be the gorgeous host-'

'It's my bar, Raven!' Charles protested. 'And Hank's party!'

Raven poked her tongue out at him, and repeated herself. 'I shall be the gorgeous host, and we'll make you forget all about that horrid jerk with the polo shirts.'

Charles looked at them with slightly greater interest. 'What did Warren do?'

Raven flapped a hand in front of Hank's face, blocking what would have likely been an adorably stilted excuse for someone treating him poorly. Charles wished Hank could see his own worth outside the lab.

'Proved himself unworthy and will learn to regret being a dick,' Raven sniffed and gesticulated again. 'So! You have two and a half weeks to finalise your guest list, I shall organise everything, and Charles will spend the whole time making cow eyes at a psychotic German and choosing unbearably awful décor.'

'All right,' Hank chuckled, lifting Raven off his lap and setting her on the ground. 'I'll email you the three names I come up with and you can pad it out with whatever himbos you find lurking around the place.'

He stood, shooting Charles a smile and giving Raven one last squeeze before heading towards the door. 'I'll send you the coursework tonight, Charles. And I suppose I'll see you in a month?'

Charles showed him to the door, giving one more apologetic smile for the accidental ruination of Hank's academic life. He wasn't looking forward to the Freshmen's papers, but it was the least he could do, really.

Hank gave him a shy grin, and disappeared into the staircase.

'All right!' Charles clapped his hands. 'So we're throwing a party!'

****

The look Erik gave him when he announced the party gave Charles the shivers. He crossed his legs hurriedly to conceal his hard on and grinned sunnily.

'He's really a lovely boy,' he said, watching Erik's lips as they thinned. 'And really, it's standard practice to throw an opening gala. I'm just... making it a rather more exclusive one than is usual.'

Erik stared at him, long enough to get Charles quite profoundly worked up, then he smiled. 'I reserve the right to refuse service to anyone who asks for one of those imbecilic cocktails named after sex acts. In perpetuity.'

'I'll have a sign made!' Charles spread his hands. 'The Establishment reserves the right to refuse service for poor choices in liquor!'

'No Porntails,' Erik suggested, smiling. 'With a list of verboten choices.'

Charles let out a delighted laugh and returned his attention to the upholstery book. 'Would this velvet be too bordello chic do you think?'

Erik didn't dignify that with a response, he just took the book away from Charles.

'So cruel,' Charles sighed, setting his chin in his cupped hands.

****

The refit went swiftly; a little too swiftly for Charles's preferences. Too few days with Erik's too-small singlet and big capable hands working on the fittings.

He consoled himself by planning Hank's party in great and hedonistic detail, building an almost military campaign on his computer.

'Alex?' he said down the phone line. 'What do you think about caviar?'

'I think it's disgusting fish refuse and no one really likes it,' Alex said, voice a little muffled as he switched ears. 'But it's you money, man. You want caviar, I s'pose I'll get you caviar.'

Charles pouted. 'I like caviar.'

'You also like opera, math, polo and fucking _art_ , Charles,' Alex said. 'You are not normal.'

'Lobster?' Charles suggested hopefully.

'Lobster I can do,' Alex agreed. 'You want me to do the cake too?'

' _A_ cake, certainly,' Charles opened his email and recoiled at the size of the file Hank had sent this time. How many students had Essex _given_ him? 'But I think Raven wanted to try her hand at baking one too.'

Alex swore down the line, muttering in great detail about the crime against man and god that was Raven's cooking. 'OK,' he sighed after the diatribe, tone going rueful. 'Tell her he'll eat anything made of Twinkies. Man loves him some Twinkies. She can build him a Twinkie cake without opening a taste portal to Satan’s anus can't she?'

'Oh,' Charles pulled the phone away from his ear to blink at it. 'Oh, Alex I-'

'No, Charles, just shut up, please,' Alex said quickly. 'Please don't say anything. Look, I've gotta go. Email me anything else you wanna cram onto the menu by Thursday and I'll get it all ready. Bye.'

He hung up before Charles had the chance to apologise.

'That was unexpected,' Charles muttered, tossing the phone into the printer and ignoring it when it fell onto the floor. 'Poor Alex.'

Though, Hank _was_ single now. And Alex, while not Hank's usual type, was very attractive. Yes, Charles decided with a grin. This could work.

****

A week from the party, and Charles had a spectacular menu, an almost-complete bar, a reservation list filled with fantastic people and the beginnings of a stress breakdown.

'He simply doesn't respond to anything!' he wailed at Raven over a bottle of Chateau d'Idiotically Expensive. 'I've been throwing myself at him for weeks now and nothing!'

Raven patted his hair and pried the bottle away from him. 'Charles, you are a slut.'

Charles straightened, mouth dropping open, but Raven closed her hand over it before he could protest.

'You are a huge slut, and that is fine. It's great,' she raised her eyebrows at him. 'Erik is a terrifying, repressed scary person who is almost certainly not used to your style of come-on. Give him a bit of time, but also please don't get too invested in this?'

Charles sighed and pulled Raven's hand away. 'Very well. I suppose I ought to be concentrating on the problem of Alex and Hank.'

Raven's gaze sharpened. 'What has Alex done to him now?'

'Oh no,' Charles stole the bottle back and topped his glass up. ' _No_ , the problem is that Alex doesn't seem to have left the elementary school playground when it comes to displaying his interest.'

Raven frowned, eyes going unfocused. 'Well,' she said after a moment. 'That does explain a few things.'

'Quite,' Charles settled his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his side. 'The poor boy is quite gone over him.'

Raven settled her head on Charles's shoulder and made a vaguely disapproving noise. 'How much does he like Hank?'

'Oh, about as much as meat loves salt, I should say,' Charles said with a grin, and Raven jabbed his side with a sharp finger. 'Ow! Rather a lot, Raven. Every time I mention Hank's name, he goes still and defeated.'

Raven pulled away to stare at him. ' _Defeated_? OK, yeah. We need to fix this. I'll work on Hank, you keep Alex calm.'

Charles sipped at his wine for a while. 'Did you ever think, growing up, that you'd wind up working as a Yenta?'

Raven's response spilled the rest of his glass, but they were both laughing too hard to care.


	3. Two shots of vodka, two of white rum, one of cointreau, and ice into a boston shaker

‘ _Code Disaster, Raven!_ ’ Charles hissed into his phone, keeping a frantic eye on Alex’s back as he thumped around in Charles’s pantry looking for the truffle oil Charles had promised him.

‘You know that’s not how codes work, right?’ Raven said, a grin in her voice. ‘Also, you usually have to establish them ahead of time, FYI.’

‘Hank’s birthday is also _Alex’s_ ,’ Charles raised his voice to call to Alex ‘maybe I put it in the wine cellar, you could check there.’

‘This is an apartment in Greenwich,’ Alex said, glowering over his shoulder. ‘How the fuck does it have a _wine cellar_?’

Charles smiled at him, his widest and most disarming one. ‘Well, more of a wine spare bedroom, I suppose, but it serves the same purpose.’

Alex narrowed his eyes and stomped over to the wine spare bedroom Charles indicated.

‘Feel free to help yourself to a bottle or two, Alex,’ Charles called after him as the door closed, then he hunched over the phone to continue melting down at Raven. ‘What do we _do_ , Raven?!’

On the other end of the line, Raven was silent for long enough that Charles had to pull the phone away from his ear and squint at it to make sure he hadn’t accidentally hung up on her.

‘Well,’ she said eventually. ‘I guess we make it a double bash. And Alex’s half is a surprise party.’

‘Oh, that’s _brilliant_ ,’ Charles sank onto the window seat and beamed out at the early afternoon traffic on Bleecker Street. ‘Perfectly brilliant!’

Raven made a rude noise and ended the call, leaving Charles planning a birthday party _within_ a birthday party that was already secretly a matchmaking affair.

What a lark!

****

Charles spent the week leading up to the Secretly A Double Party flitting through every thrift store and market he could find without leaving the five boroughs, seeking out the perfect finishing touches for the bar. A stall in Williamsburg netted some _darling_ pornographic faux Tiffany lamps. A trash and treasure in Jamaica turned up the most gloriously plush bellropes that would match the burgundy velvet drapes to a tee. A Goodwill in Hoboken sold him a solid gross of kitschy shot glasses circa 1982. The cashier had been bafflingly eager to offload them, to Charles’s good fortune.

After Charles presented these last to Erik, beaming and triumphant, Erik forbade him from opshopping without supervision.

‘Oh, well if you think you _must_ ,’ Charles murmured, trying to bite down on the delight that wanted to spill forth. ‘I heard about an antiques store in Newark that I’ve been meaning to look into.’

Erik scowled. ‘You do not buy genuine antiques to fit out a trashy hipster bar. And I do not travel to Jersey.’

‘Oh,’ Charles drooped. ‘But whatever is the _point_ in replicas? It isn’t like I have a tight budget, you know. It could be our _je ne sais quois_ , our signature element-’

Erik rolled his eyes and stalked back to where he’d been wiring the Ti- _fanny_ lamps (Charles was adult enough not to call them that out loud, but he couldn’t resist a snicker to himself) into the wall before Charles had breezed in with twelve dozen shot glasses and an apparently unsuccessful play for a date.

Sighing, Charles hopped over the bar and rootled around for something comforting, or at least high-proof. He settled on a spiced mead that looked excitingly craft distillery and picked through the top box of shot glasses for something magnificent enough to rescue his mood.

It wound up being a toss between an Oscar the Grouch and a neon-lettered Safety Dance. Unable to decide, Charles poured a measure into each glass and toasted himself and his _obvious_ thrift store mojo.

Two refills each for Oscar and Safety later, Erik settled in on one of the new oak-and-brocade bar stools and gave Charles a steady stare.

‘Not a chance!’ Charles clutched his shot glasses to his chest, ignoring the slosh of niche mead onto his linen-covered chest. ‘You malign my vision for this bar, you don’t get PBS-approved liquor!’

Erik rolled his eyes and hooked his go-go-gadget arm around to snag a bottle of peppermint schnapps from under the bar without looking. Charles bit his lip and tried not to think lascivious thoughts about that _reach_ and unthinking competence and the smooth stretch of muscled arms.

‘If you scatter Chippendale tables around your New York hipster bar,’ Erik uncapped the schnapps and pulled a shot glass from the box to pour a measure. ‘You must hire another employee to do the polishing and weeping over the damage idiot customers do to them. I refuse.’

‘Certainly,’ Charles toasted with each hand. ‘I swear not to saddle you with antiques-upkeep.’

Erik muttered something in German that sounded suspiciously like it would translate to “yeah, right”, so Charles laughed and topped up his glasses.

****

‘You fucker,’ Alex breathed directly into Charles’s ear when he hugged him after the crowd had finished screaming ‘surprise!’.

‘Well, yes,’ Charles grinned. ‘But if that was an offer, I’m afraid I must decline.’

‘Happy birthday, crankypants!’ Raven slung herself over the two of them and landed a noisy kiss against Alex’s ear. ‘And fuck you for not telling me.’

Alex scowled at her and muttered something Charles decided to pretend he hadn’t understood. A gentleman could, after all, be given some leeway on his birthday.

‘Oh,’ Charles disentangled himself and patted himself down looking for Alex’s present. ‘Aha! Happy birthday, Alex!’

Alex took the keys and split a disbelieving stare between Charles’s face and his own hand. ‘What.’

‘It’s a delivery van!’ Charles grinned. ‘Insulated, insured through the end of the year, side panels ready for your logo whenever you decide on one.’

Alex’s hand closed around the keys in what looked like an unconscious reflex. Charles let his grin soften and placed a hand on Alex’s shoulder.

‘You are a phenomenal chef, Alex,’ he said, glancing towards Raven for her support and getting an enthusiastic series of noises from her. ‘And I fully intend on contracting for your services at _every_ opportunity, but I respect that you are an independent businessman. Consider it a hearty thank you gift as well as birthday, and go get yourself something obnoxious and high-proof from Erik. I will love you forever if you make him make something with a lewd name.’

Alex blinked a few times, then laughed, his entire face lighting up. ‘It better be cherry red, Charles, otherwise I’m complaining to the sugar daddy oversight committee.’

Charles winked, shooed Alex towards the bar and turned to survey his domain. The entire bar was bedecked with streamers, balloons, bunting and tray after tray of food. The guests were having a blast, and Raven was holding court in front of the temporary stage ready to launch karaoke once everyone was too drunk to stop her.

‘Stage one complete,’ Charles said and selected a glass of champagne from a passing temporary waiter. Now to find Hank and ply him with just enough alcohol to loosen him up but not enough to render him drunk. Drunken hook-ups were one thing, but Charles had a strict policy of informed consent when _feelings_ were involved.

The pretext of dragging Hank away to give him his present was out, since he’d already given Hank his gift; a first edition copy of On the Origin of Species which had stayed safe in Charles’s flat to be collected post-festivities.

‘I think your terrifying bartender wants to eat my face,’ Alex said, returning to Charles’s side with a hurricane glass filled with a lurid pink and topped with a dozen plastic monkeys. ‘But one Lakeside Lovers’ Lane successfully pried out of him.’

Charles squinted at the drink, delighted and horrified in equal measure. ‘Is that an _actual_ drink? I thought Raven was just putting horrid phrases together to wind Erik up.’

Alex shrugged and took a sip through a curly straw. Charles watched his face move through a half dozen expressions before settling on something like “not bad”.

‘Done your rounds?’ Charles asked, still scanning the room for Hank. ‘Come on, Alex, let’s collect your well-wishes while everyone’s still sober enough to give them and before Raven tricks someone into singing.’

Charles hooked his arm through Alex’s and dragged him around, killing the two birds of lifting Alex’s spirits and looking for Hank with the one sociable stone. He swapped his empty glass for a full one and made sure to aim for clusters of people that had at least one of Alex’s friends in them.

‘Christ almighty,’ Alex muttered as they bounced from conversation to conversation. ‘We’d better warn Raven not to let Sean anywhere near the mic unless you want people on the other side of the Village calling in noise complaints.’

‘We’ll disconnect the microphone if he heads up,’ Charles said, distracted by the sight of Hank opening the storage closet door on the far side of the room. ‘I say, let’s get something to eat! I’m famished.’

Alex shot him a look that tried to convey how much he wasn’t falling for Charles’s schtick, but what precisely Alex thought Charles was doing was uncertain. Charles was confident his plan to manipulate the threads of his friends’ love lives remained secret.

Charles steered Alex through the bar and past any number of trays of delectable treats, ignoring the muttered complaints until they fetched up beside the storage closet.

‘Whatever you’re up to, Charles,’ Alex said, arms folding as soon as Charles let go his grip on Alex’s elbow, ‘I want no part of it.’

‘ _This_ ,’ Charles grinned and settled one hand on the small of Alex’s back ready to give him a shove in after Hank and wrapped the other around the door handle, ‘I am sure you _do_ want me to do.’

He threw the door open and felt the grin melt off his face. ‘Oh dear.’

‘Hey, sexy,’ Tony smirked over his own shoulder, Hank partly visible and mostly naked behind him, ‘wanna join in? Birthday Babe, you want some more company?’

‘Uh, thank you but no,’ Charles said, feeling a blush rise in his cheeks, ‘sorry for the intrusion.’

‘Hey, _su casa es su casa_ ,’ Tony turned back to Hank, hands moving in a way that had Hank letting out a startled moan. Charles felt an utterly inappropriate sense-memory of Tony’s hands on _his_ skin. ‘But close the door either way, you’re letting the sexy out.’

Charles regained control of his motor functions and closed the door again, leaned against it and tried to think of a sufficiently grovelling apology to make to Alex.

‘Charles?’ Alex said, voice soft and face a mask.

‘I’m sorry,’ sometimes the simplest method was best. Charles lifted a hand to touch Alex’s shoulder.

‘Not your fault,’ Alex straightened his shoulders, ‘well, mostly not. But I’m going to go home now.’

Miserably, Charles walked Alex to the door. The rest of the party hadn’t noticed anything, which was a blessing, but Charles felt _wretched_.

‘Here,’ Erik loomed out from a patch of shadow and held out a bottle of something amber towards Alex, ‘if you are going to drink your sorrows away in privacy on your birthday, it deserves something of higher quality than Jack Daniels.’

Alex took the bottle and gave Erik a nod, then he stepped out into the night and vanished.

‘You should not have done that,’ Erik said, frowning. ‘It is not good to meddle in others’ affections.’

‘Evidently,’ Charles slumped against the closed door and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Oh dear, I suppose I ought to have seen that coming. I _did_ invite Tony, after all, and one cannot blame a man for acting according to his _well-established_ nature.’

Erik made a disapproving growling noise and walked back to the bar. Charles perked up a little at the view; the man might be a world-class grump, but he knew how to buy his jeans.

On the far side of the bar, Raven was holding court around the karaoke machine. The storage closet was still closed, and the party remained in full swing even with both birthday boys absent from the room.

Charles took a deep breath and shook his worry off. The damage was done, there was nothing to be done until at least the next day, and there was revelry to engage in. He pulled his party face back on, seized a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and some caviar from the nearest table, then dived back into the fray.

He’d work on fixing everything tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Re: the spelling of 'perq', I read Charles as one of those terribly Oxbridge snobs, and since 'perk' in the sense of 'benefit' is short for 'perquisite' I just see him spelling it the old way. Not sure if anyone noticed or cared, just thought I'd put it out there. ^_^


End file.
